We frequently hear critics argue that U.S. students can’t write well and that there is a “literacy crisis” in the U.S. What is the origin of these discourses? What do they have to do with immigration, national security, and economics? How does the notion that Americans can’t write drive the national push to test writing? Here we explore the history of writing and testing in the U.S., the “science” and technology of testing approaches, and how the rhetoric of assessment impacts the lives of Americans today.

Thursday, January 27, 2011

George Orwell's Post-War Literacy Crisis, and Why It Matters to Us


Aside from tormenting generations of high schoolers with his satirical work Animal Farm and having one of the strangest mustaches ever, George Orwell was an avid critic of English literacy and writing, particularly in areas of stylistics. I recently read one of Orwell's essays on the matter in COMM 413: The Mass Media and Culture. In "Politics and the English Language" Orwell decries the current state of the English language, warning that current stylistic practices in English mirror the overall decadence of society, and the decline of language parallels the decline of (in this case) English civilization.



Unlike Newsweek's famous expose on declining literacy, "Why Johny Can't Write," which fears that writing skills are disappearing among school-age children, Orwell credits the decline in literacy to the prevailing stylistic tendencies of the academy and of politics. Rather than writing clearly and concisely, professors and politicians attempt to appear eloquent and learned by stringing together long sentences full of Greek and Latinate words, which can either give the work a sense of grandeur, or relegate it, in the mind of the common audience, to a piece of pretentious, lofty bullshit. Though Orwell seems to be pontificating a bit, he does have a point- too often, academic essays burst at the seams with nonsensical jargon but contribute little meaning to even a highly learned reader. To Orwell, it seems that the goal of writing has become to obscure rather than to inform.

Much like "Why Johnny Can't Write," Orwell presents actual pieces of what he considers to be overly wordy, frivolous English. These examples, which Orwell pulls from academic and political discourses, do make a point. The writers seem to value sentence length over clarity and feigned eloquence over concise and concrete prose. For example, Orwell presents a stunningly confusing sentence from an essay written by Professor Harold Laski, a distinguished British academic and politician.
I am not, indeed, sure whether it is not true to say that the Milton who once seemed not unlike a seventeenth-century Shelley had not become, out of an experience ever more bitter in each year, more alien [sic] to the founder of that Jesuit sect which nothing could induce him to tolerate.

It is important to note that Orwell has picked what he considered to be standard examples of modern English discourse. I am inclined to agree with Orwell, who, keep in mind, wrote before the post-modernist academics even began to pollute high education with nonsensical ramblings, that writing has ceased to be a method of conveying information, and instead has become an exercise in verbal acrobatics.

Why is this important to us? Orwell fears that this obfuscating language allows people in positions of power– academics and politicians– to speak for hours or pages on a subject without really saying anything, which makes it easy for the public to be deceived by those very people who are supposed to protect and enlighten it. For our purposes, however, we begin to see that whether we are trying to teach struggling students how to write or trying to rein in word-happy writers who say little of substance, the main purpose of writing must be to communicate. What good is being able to write if what you write is unable to contribute to the lives of others?

While some academics might decry the teaching of "Standard Edited English" as a form of cultural imperialism, I think it's important to remember that as teachers, journalists, or writers, we have an obligation to enlighten and better our audiences. I would consider myself a failure as a teacher if I refused to teach my students the "proper" way to write– i.e. writing the way that potential employers want. Altruism and idealism are important when teaching something creative such as writing, but to ignore the status quo and dismiss it as repressive is a complete disservice to students. While I want students to be able to find their own voice, I also think it's important for them to understand that every venue has a corresponding register of speech. Would I write an email to a friend in the same way that I would write an application letter to a potential employer? I think not. Students should learn that different stylistic moods exist, and that the correct application of these moods can truly benefit them.

From Newsweek's fears that the young couldn't write, to Orwell's fears that those in power couldn't write, literacy crises are a continual aspect of life in a literate culture. As the teachers of the future, we need to enlighten our students to the various manifestations of literacy so that they can always express themselves effectively.

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